I heard Eddie chuckling behind me. I was sure he did something, but I’d have to wait to find out what.
It wasn’t until the end of school, when we was all leaving, that I got a chance to grab Eddie and get him alone.
“Where is it?” I said.
“Where’s what?” His face looked as innocent as a skunk about to spray you.
“You know what. Where’s my pa’s disability check?”
“Oh, you mean this?” he said, and then he pulled something out of his pocket. And my stomach turned to lead.
He’d done cut up Pa’s check into a line of paper dolls. He made them do a little dance and then he held it out to me.
“You pig-faced weaselly turd.” I grabbed it out of his hand. “You’ve done a lot of low things, but now you’re messing around with our money.”
“Relax,” he said, laughing at me. “Your pa’s just got to call the VA office and tell them the check got messed up in the mail. They’ll send you a new one. My pa does it all the time, and he cashes the both of them. They don’t care.”
I didn’t have no time to argue with him, I had to get to the bank. I kicked him in the shin real good, just so he’d remember to be careful who he was messing with next time, and I took off running. I went back and kicked him one more time for good measure. I guessed we was square.
I ran as fast as I could through town to get to the bank. I didn’t know what time they closed, but I figured, since they already had all the money, they probably wasn’t too concerned about putting in their eight hours. I was sure relieved when I got there and the door still had the OPEN sign on.
The building was marble and the front doors had golden handles, and it was a good reminder that the folks inside there had money and the folks outside didn’t. I went inside and asked for the fella whose name was on the letter we got sent. Turns out he was the bank manager, and they took me to his desk. He looked sort of like a barn owl watching mice scampering around the dirt below.
“Johnny Cannon?” he said after I sat down. “Why didn’t your pa come to take care of this?”
“That’s a long story, mister,” I said. “What do I got to do to pay our house payment?”
He scrunched up his forehead at me and I wondered if he might let out a hoot. He reached into his desk and pulled out a big book, sort of like how the preachers said the Good Lord would on Judgment Day. I had a bad feeling that meant we was damned.
“Well, I don’t like involving you, but your brother did tell me you’d be handling payments, so I suppose you’ll have to do. Your family is sixty days behind on your mortgage payment. That’s two month’s payments of one hundred thirty-three dollars. Add the late fee of five dollars, and your total is two hundred seventy-one dollars that we need to delay any action on your house.”
“What do you mean, ‘action’?” I said.
“Proceeding with foreclosure,” he said.
“What’s that mean?”
The bell on the door dinged and Mr. Thomassen came into the bank. He walked over to the teller and started doing his business, taking some money out.
“It means that the bank will take ownership of your house,” the bank manager said.
That got me right in the gut.
“How’s that even possible? My family’s owned the house for forever. My ma grew up in the house. I think my grandma even grew up there too.”
“Your grandmother took out a loan against the property about six years ago,” he said. “She did own the house before that, with no mortgage that I’m aware of.”
Six years? That would have been about 1955. It wasn’t like anyone in my family to ask for unnecessary help. Or even necessary help, sometimes.
“What day did she do the new mortgage?” I said. He looked in the book.
“July 17, 1955.”
I felt my face’s color get drained out.
“Me and my ma was in an accident on July 16 of that year. I wonder why Grandma took out the mortgage then.”
He looked at some notes he had in the book.
“It says, ‘medical expenses, travel expenses, and other expenses.’ To Havana, apparently.”
“That was where we had the accident at. In Havana.”
He looked lost in the conversation.
“So, do you have a plan to get the payment made today?”
I had to get my head back on target. It was hard, ’cause I didn’t like thinking that I was the reason Grandma’d needed help from the bank, or that I might be why we was about to lose our house. If I thought I felt guilty over Martha’s ponytail, that wasn’t nothing compared to this.
“How much is in our bank account? Can’t we just make the payment?”
He told me he needed to go check and he got up and headed over to the tellers. Mr. Thomassen had finished what he was doing and he came over to where I was.
“I hope you didn’t come by the shop today. I tried to call you and let you know I’m closed for personal business, but your phone was busy almost all day.”
“Pa’s using it.” I tried to put on a smile, but instead it looked like I was constipated.
“Everything okay?” he said to me.
I shrugged. The bank manager came back over.
“You have fifteen dollars,” he said. My stomach sank even lower than it had before.
“Oh, wait,” I said, “I got my pa’s disability check.” I fished the cut-up thing out of my pocket and put it on his desk. Both he and Mr. Thomassen stared at it for a second.
“Why did you do that?” the bank manager said.
“I didn’t,” I said. “A rat fink named Eddie did.”
“Well, I can’t deposit that.”
“We’re going to get a new one sent to us. Can’t you just take that and I’ll bring you the new one?”
“That’s not how it works,” he said.
“Hold on,” Mr. Thomassen said. “How about if I give you the money that your check would cover, and when the new one comes in you can give me the money back?”
I hated the idea of owing anybody anything, especially Mr. Thomassen, since he was my boss and all. It was a step closer to slavery, and I was pretty sure Abe Lincoln had chopped down a cherry tree to end that. I could have been wrong. We wasn’t quite there yet in our history class.
“I couldn’t do that. It ain’t in my blood to take charity.”
“It’s not charity, it’s an interest-free loan.”
“Sounds an awful lot like charity,” I said.
He thought for a bit.
“How about this, what if I charge you interest, but the interest can be in the form of a favor sometime, if I need one.”
That was a little bit better.
“Yeah, that’ll work,” I said, and it seemed like we was all happy for it. “But you make sure you cash in on that favor, or else I’ll be the biggest bum in town.”
“Don’t worry,” Mr. Thomassen said. “I never forget who owes me favors.” He looked at the total that was on the check and unrolled the cash he’d just withdrew and handed the amount to the manager. He had to leave right after that, but I shook his hand and told him how grateful I was.
“There,” I said to the bank manager. “Are we all good now?” I got up to leave.
“Certainly, just let me know how you’re going to pay the rest.”
I sat back down.
“What do you mean, the rest? Didn’t that cover our payment?”
“Mr. Thomassen gave you the amount of the disability check, which was ninety-eight dollars. Add the fifteen still in your account, and you’re at one hundred thirteen dollars. Twenty dollars short of one month’s payment, and you’re down by two. So, how will you be paying the rest?”
It ain’t too often that I feel like crying, but that was one of those times. Here I was, trying my hardest to take care
of Pa like Tommy’d told me to, and to take care of the house and everything else, and it seemed like I was getting blocked at every turn. I had to get away so I could think harder and make a better plan.
“I’m going to have to talk to my pa,” I said, even though I knew it wouldn’t do much good.
“Maybe you should have done that before you came,” he said. Folks always liked to remind you what you should have done before you got to where you was, especially if you was a kid. I excused myself and headed home.
The fact that we was soon going to be losing our house and there wasn’t nothing I could think of to do about it made me not feel too keen on running home. I dragged my feet, kicking the rocks and cans that was in the street as I went. I did speed up a bit when I passed Martha Macker’s house, ’cause I didn’t want to get into what was sure to be a long talk with her ma. Plus, I still didn’t know how to explain what I did.
Eventually I got to our house. At least it was ours until the bank took it away.
I went in to look for Pa. I knew, after what he’d said before about Jesus and all, that he probably wouldn’t think it was worrisome. But I was fearsome worried. He wasn’t inside the house, so I reckoned he was out in the shed again. I went out there and pounded on the door.
He opened it with tears in his eyes.
“This soldier-boy in Africa is getting to talk to his baby girl in Texas for the first time,” he said, and his grin was as sappy as a fella that was watching a Marilyn Monroe flick. “I tell you, there’s some things that you can’t put a price tag on.”
“Tell that to Grandma,” I said. “Did you know she took out a mortgage on this house when Ma died?” He bore some of the blame for that. He should have told her not to do it. She wouldn’t have listened and would have done it anyway, but at least he could say he tried.
“Yeah,” he said. “Here, do you want to listen in to this call? It’s precious.”
I punched the door.
“Doggone it, Pa, no! Did you know we ain’t paid that mortgage for two months and the bank is aiming to take our house?”
That got him to pay attention better.
“What? How do you know?”
“I went and talked to them,” I said.
He sighed. “What did they say?”
“That we need another one hundred sixty dollars or the house is theirs.”
He leaned against the doorframe and sighed again. He was good at that.
“Well, I reckon we need a plan then,” he said.
“I also borrowed some money from Mr. Thomassen,” I said. “So we got to pay that back too.”
“Reckon he might be willing to loan us some more?” he said. “I could go ask him, since I’m the grown-up and all.”
Yup, Tommy was right. Pa shouldn’t be trying to take care of things. I wasn’t going to ask nobody else for no help, not if I could help it.
“No. We ain’t asking nobody for a personal loan. We got to protect our pride.”
He got mad at that.
“ ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall,’ ” he said.
“Oh good, God and country. That’s going to fix the problem.”
“I’m just saying, sometimes you’ve got to ask for help,” he said.
“No, sometimes you got to ask for help. Ain’t that what being disabled is all about?” I felt bad for that, but somebody had to say it. I think. “I still got the full use of my mind and body, and we ain’t going to depend on somebody else’s hand to care for us. I promised Tommy I would handle it, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Hey. Pull in your neck, boy.” He looked like he wanted to whip me. I didn’t care.
“Why should I? I’m doing everything around here, at least everything that’s got to do with our house and our money. I reckon I got the right to stick my neck wherever I want to. You’re the one who ain’t got a job, or the strength to take care of the house, or the brain to figure out the bills, or nothing else. But at least you got this here shed. And God and country. I’ll figure out how to make our mortgage.”
I didn’t give him no time to say nothing back, I just turned and ran off. He didn’t try to yell after me. I wouldn’t have listened anyway.
I needed to talk to somebody. Usually it would have been Tommy. He wouldn’t have let us get into this mess if he was around. But he wasn’t around, and I couldn’t talk to him to figure nothing out.
Deep down inside, I knew there was only one person I could talk to that wouldn’t spill my news to any of the kids at school, and who might have the smarts to figure something out. I hated that it had come to that, but it was the only option. I blamed Pa for every step I took as I went to his house.
I knocked on the Parkinses’ door. Mrs. Parkins answered.
“Is Willie home?” I said.
She sent me back to his bedroom. His door was closed and I could hear him inside talking.
“In the darkest hour of the night, in a strange land, our hero awoke in a prison cell watched by a member of the alien race. Mercury did not flinch, nor did he fear, but he rose to his feet and, by the time he found his balance in the lowered gravity of the barren wasteland, he devised a plan to escape.”
I knocked on his door.
“Doggone it!” I heard him click off his tape recorder. He came and opened the door.
“Johnny?” He was real surprised to see me.
“What was you doing?” I said.
“Nothing.”
“Yes you was. It sounded real interesting, too. What was it?”
He took a second, I reckoned to see if I was being sincere.
“I was recording a radio show. A serial.”
“Like the Superman and Batman ones?” I loved those shows, listened to them every Saturday I could. I stepped into his room, even though he hadn’t invited me in. He couldn’t do much to stop me, what with only one leg working versus my two.
“Yeah. Only I write my own. I was doing Mercury, the alien hunter from outer space. I’ve also got Captain Harlem, Dark Lantern, and Amazing Woman, the African Princess.”
“You like superheroes?” I was surprised we had something in common like that. I looked around his room more now, and I noticed he had a bunch of comic books all over the place. He also had some covers that he’d ripped off and stuck up on his wall.
“Yeah, but I call mine ‘SuperNegroes.’ ” He grinned for the first time since I got there. “They’re better than them other ones.”
“How are they any better?”
“ ’Cause they’re black. There ain’t no black superheroes out there. So, mine are better.”
I was about to prove him wrong by listing all the black superheroes there was, but I realized I couldn’t think of none. I could think of a few black bad guys, but I didn’t reckon that would make my argument.
“Can I talk to you about something?” I had to swallow a couple times to get my pride out of my throat. “I need your advice.”
“Johnny Cannon needs the advice of a crippled black kid?” He made like he was dying from shock. “Give me a second to let my pa know that hell’s gotten some snow and then we can talk.”
I gave him a second, but he didn’t go nowhere. I figured he was joking. It wasn’t funny.
I closed the door to his room and sat down with him. I told him all about what was happening with our house and the bank and stuff. I also told him about Eddie Gorman and me cutting Martha’s ponytail. He laughed at that.
“This ain’t funny, Willie,” I said.
He started pretending he was her, screaming and hollering over her ponytail. He had a coonskin cap he pulled out, and had a quick funeral for the tail, saying that’s what Martha’s ma had to do.
That was funny. I felt bad for laughing, but not bad enough to stop. I went on and told him all about our house situ
ation. He wrote them numbers down on a paper and stared at them for a bit.
“So, what do you think you ought to do?” he said.
“I don’t know. I got to get one hundred sixty dollars.”
He got up and hobbled over to his bed. He picked up his mattress and fished out a few dollar bills. My heart almost stopped when he held it out to me.
“I wish I had more to give you,” he said.
Dadgummit. I could honestly say there wouldn’t have been a day in the week that I’d do the same thing for him. I didn’t use my own money to help out nobody. It took me a bit before I could talk back.
“I ain’t taking your money. We ain’t a charity case. I just got to figure out a way to make that money, and fast.”
“Well, if there’s anybody that can make money fast, it’s you. I’ve read about all the richest folks, and they’re all as tough as nails. Like you.”
“Yeah. I almost wish I’d taken bets on that fight with Russ at our church.”
He nodded, and then his eyes got big as baseballs.
“That’s it!” he said. “I’ve got the idea for how you can make the money.”
I tried to figure it out before he told me so I wouldn’t sound dumb, but it didn’t come to my head.
“You’ll hold a tournament. A boxing tournament. And you’ll take bets from the fellas and from the kids that are watching, and then you’ll win all the money.”
I had to admit, that was a good idea. Of course, I wasn’t too skilled at being a boxer, but if my house was on the line, I reckoned I could channel the rage Pa’d talked about.
“When will we do it?” I said.
“In two weeks. April fourteenth, down at our church. Same spot y’all fought before.”
“Which kids will we finagle into it?”
“Whoever thinks they could beat you. I’ll bet Russ’ll jump in. He’s been talking about taking another pop at you. And any white kids you know that might like to fight too.”
Well, I had a feeling that was going to go over like a lead balloon.
“You aim to have the white kids and the black kids at the same spot, doing the same thing, and competing for the same prize? You might be setting up a bigger fight than you think.”
The Troubles of Johnny Cannon Page 8
